


The Bar Incident

by melonbutterfly



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Anonymous Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so first of all Peter would like for it to go on record that he did <em>not</em> plan this. Okay? Okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bar Incident

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Staubengel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Staubengel/gifts), [Dhyana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dhyana/gifts).
  * Translation into Polski available: [Barowy incydent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743360) by [Lampira7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lampira7/pseuds/Lampira7)



Okay, so first of all Peter would like for it to go on record that he did _not_ plan this. Okay? Okay.

He didn't, though. Who _would,_ really? Ronan is sort of... completely batshit insane. Compassion and sympathy are as foreign to him as water is to fire, which is to say, they just do not exist within the same space. And well, Peter might not be the nicest guy out there, but in the grand scheme of things he's pretty nice, alright? More importantly, the people he... well. Okay. So maybe his sexual history isn't the best example, but nevertheless, Peter isn't in the habit of making stupid dec- alright fine, so he kind of does have the odd dumb decision under this belt, but that doesn't have to mean anything.

Maybe.

Well, at the very leas the didn't plan for this to happen. That has to count for something, doesn't it? Granted, he'd thought Ronan was dead, but that's irrelevant to the matter at hand.

Anyways, Peter has always been bad at recognizing people without make-up. It's the truth; more than once his morning-after "who are you?" question came from legitimately not recognizing a person after they'd washed their face.

So, really. It's definitely not his fault he doesn't know the hot, bald, blue guy in that bar is Ronan. And to be fair, he's not a hundred percent sure it would've made a difference either way; he was being pursued, okay, and he really needed a cover, and that hot and more importantly _big_ guy sure made a good one. So Peter had literally thrown himself at him, all "darling!" and put a hand on his shoulder – what with all the strange alien rituals and customs out there, nobody would realize that for the context he was implying, that greeting really should've been cozier. And then he'd hissed through lips stretched into a wide smile, "If you play along I'm gonna pay you back."

Hot blue guy had stared at him for several seconds, somewhere between shock and outrage, and then the door banged open, a group of guards from that stupid palace storming in to search the place, and in desperation Peter jumped the guy, wrapped his arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and pressed his lips to the guy's. It would either get his message across and received or get him punched, and a bar brawl would probably make for a decent distraction too, if a more painful one.

Strong, broad hands find his hips and clench around them, but hot blue guy doesn't shove him off; instead he whirls around and pushes Peter against the bar, border of it digging into his back, and shoves his tongue into Peter's mouth.

He's not nice about it. Oh, he isn't nice at all, but Peter never claimed to be wise or even just smart; the other guy's blatant show of strength sends a shiver through him, a thrill of excitement that curls in his belly and makes him eager to find out what else the guy has in store. Peter, with his stature and weight, doesn't often meet someone who could fuck him into the wall and who Peter would want to do that with, and suddenly a world of possibilities unfolds in front of him.

He forgets about the guards. Completely forgets about them. The guy's tongue is hot and demanding in Peter's mouth, tastes strongly of alcohol but isn't sloppy at all, so even if the guy might have been drinking, he's not drunk. And he knows what he's doing. Oh, he knows it; his tongue is insistent, lips soft and skillful and the way he tilts his head and uses his teeth sometimes speaks of experience. There's nothing nice about the kiss, especially not at first, but somehow it gentles, something about the way Peter moans and willingly yields to it melting away some of the aggression perhaps.

It's ages before they pull apart, and blue guy looks as stunned as Peter feels. They stare at each other for an impossibly long moment; Peter's lips are stinging and it takes him a while to remember how to breathe. His tongue flicks out, brushing over his tingling lips, catching more of the guy's taste, and Peter's breath catches when the guy's eyes immediately hone in on his mouth, stay stuck for a moment.

"Uh," Peter makes mindlessly, and it's as if the sound breaks some sort of spell. The guy doesn't do something as obvious as jolt, but he lets go of Peter's hips, allows him to stand on his own feet again, takes a step back. For a moment Peter's knees threaten to buckle, unsteady as a newborn faun, but then they remember how to hold him up and Peter is left feeling cold and disoriented, the loud noise of the bar deafening all of a sudden.

He shivers, swallows, and forces himself to take a look around. The guards are gone, vanished as if into thin air, but logically Peter knows a fair chunk of time has passed since their entrance and... that kiss.

Nobody is paying them any attention; this isn't the sort of place that would.

Locking eyes with the stranger again, Peter finds himself on the receiving end of a... pretty angry stare actually. But not the type that makes him wary; this looks more confused than anything. And the guy is still hot, the tattered tank top he's wearing doing little to hide his muscles and broad shoulders, the even, blue tone of his skin.

Oh, Peter is so going to hit that. Raising both eyebrows, he leans back and supports his elbows on the bar, cocks his hips in that way that makes his body look like one inviting curve. "So, you wanna get out of here?"

It's a simple offer, one Peter has made a dozen times and more, but for an unknown reason it feels more weighted somehow. The guy and Peter stare at each other and the moment stretches, tension rising as the guy keeps perfectly still, piercing, purple eyes fixed on Peter's, and Peter has the feeling that there's something about those eyes... they're gorgeous.

The guy's chin raises and suddenly his whole body is in motion, grabs Peter's underarm and pulls him off the bar, out of the room.

"Hey!" Peter exclaims by sheer surprise, but when the guy glances back at him over his shoulder, raises one non-existent eyebrow, and Peter settles. This is what he wants; they're going somewhere private. He nods in answer to the unvoiced question and lets himself be hauled away.

The guy leads him through winding alleys, the slim, crooked type that only a local would know how to maneuver, until they eventually reach a pretty nondescript entrance. This planet doesn't believe in solid doors, one of the things that had made breaking in so easy, and so they slip inside, Peter on the guy's tracks, down a dusky hallway into a room, small but cozy enough, Peter supposes. He's certainly stayed – hell, _lived_ – in worse places. It's definitely well-maintained, not obsessively so but still neat the way Peter could never keep his own living space, not even knowing everybody who walks by the slim entrance could see in if they wanted to.

Except they can't; there's a curtain the guy pulls shut behind them and then they're in privacy – or at least as private as it gets here. The planet's second moon is just rising, a bright mini-sun, tinting everything in a faint purple light and making the guy's skin look brilliant like polished marble.

Maybe they should talk first, hell, maybe Peter should ask about the guy's _name_ first, not to mention make sure that their genitals can be aligned somehow, but he doesn't waste a moment's thoughts on any of those things. Instead he steps into the guy's space and brings their mouths together once more, sure that that time at the bar had been a fluke, it won't be like that again-

It is. A magical fucking experience, no pun intended; shit, Peter's had chemistry with somebody before but never, never like this. It's just kissing, for fuck's sake, it shouldn't take his breath away like this, hasn't since the first few times he did it, but somehow, with this guy, it still does.

This is gonna be amazing, Peter thinks and shrugs off his coat.

*

Some time later, Peter is lying on his back, staring at the non-existent ceiling. He's still seeing stars. Literal stars; in addition to doors, ceilings also are the devil to these people so they don't put roofs on their buildings. But he wouldn't be seeing them right now, thanks to that mini-sun slash moon, except he and hot guy whose name he still doesn't know have spent what must have been hours driving each other crazy.

Seriously. The guy was almost malicious at times, making Peter beg and beg until he was sobbing with it, aching and desperate, before he finally gave in and gave Peter what he'd been pleading for, only to take it away a second later and start all over again. But it's lead to the most powerful handful of orgasms Peter has ever had in his life, ever, so Peter has absolutely zero regrets.

Except, well. There's a question it's probably high time he ask. "So what's your name?" He turns his head to look at blue guy who's lying on his side next to Peter, scowling. His standard expression, Peter has learned by now; the guy looks angry no matter what he's doing. He looks angry when he _comes._

Right now he peers at Peter and narrows his eyes a little, thoughtful and speculative, and eventually he opens his mouth and says, voice hoarse because yes, Peter hadn't been the only one to scream, thank you very much, "Ronan."

Uncomprehending, Peter stares at him for a second, two. Then he feels his eyes widen.

Well, shit.


End file.
